


In The Stars You'll Find Me

by ShirosNeverDie (oftenretold)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Stable Time Loop, Time Travel, Young Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 00:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16984548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftenretold/pseuds/ShirosNeverDie
Summary: Maybe it was his natural stubborness that made Shiro hold onto his promise, even though no one would know if he had broken it, or even if what he had experienced was real. But when he looked up at the sky all he could think about was finding him again, and finally being able to say, "You were right. You believed I could, and I did. I can never thank you enough."





	In The Stars You'll Find Me

///1

"I just need to know. What is it about this that matters so much to you? More than life? More than me."

He had his things packed and on a transport already on their way to his new quarters. There was nothing left, no reason for him to be here at all, unless it was to drag this out.

"You wouldn't understand it." Shiro was too drained to put any kindness into the words, and Adam's face soured at his tone.

"Why would you have stayed with me for so long if you believed I couldn't understand you?"

Shiro winced. It wasn't an accusation, but it stung him with guilt nonetheless.

Adam's next words were quiet, plaintive. "Takashi, please."

"It was when --" Shiro stopped, looked away, and started again. "You know, I was young when I got my diagnosis."

"Yes."

"A few weeks before that, I had been to the aeronautics museum. It was the most amazing thing, seeing all of the old planes on the tarmac together with the new ones, lined up so you could see how each generation advanced, right up to the first interplanetary jets."

"Sounds like a good time."

Shiro smiled. "I knew right then and there that I wanted to fly, just like my father before me. No doubt in my mind. I was going to be a pilot.

"Then I had to go to the doctor. And everything changed. Everything -- everyone. Everyone talked me differently, looked at me differently. When I talked again about wanting to be a pilot, they all went quiet. Grandpa suggested I become an engineer or work in ground control instead."

A silence formed, and Adam cautiously moved to fill it. "They... were trying to steer you toward a safer path. I understand how they felt, even if it was frustrating for you."

Shiro laughed, a shuddering, bitter sound. "Frustrating? Would anything have been more frustrating than watching other people get to fly?"

"For you, maybe not." Adam smiled wryly, then added, "But you did it. You got to fly."

"Yeah," Shiro said, his eyes distant. "But it's not just that, it's... not enough. I made a promise that I would go further than this. To the stars."

Adam was immediately suspicious, and Shiro didn't blame him. He hadn't told him, hadn't told anyone, anything about this. "You made a promise? To who?"

Shiro had trusted Adam once, but when he looked at him standing there, half-in, half-out of his doorway, ready to leave his life forever, the distance between them was stark. "Myself," he lied.

Shiro couldn't tell if he caught the lie, but Adam went cold. "Well, I hope you don't let yourself down, then. Don't die out there, Takashi."

 

 

 

///2

Memories are like dreams. They don't always come back in order, and rarely come back all at once.

It started like this: the sun was setting, and Shiro could taste tears in the corners of his mouth.

He wasn't a crier, not like other kids. When he was sad he was quiet, because quiet kids are good kids, and Shiro wanted to be a good kid.

He had been watching the sunset through his window and thinking about his life. Specifically, he was thinking about how it was over.

Rationally, he knew it wasn't over, not really, but it may as well have been. Everyone else had given up on him and his dreams and they were waiting for him to give up, too.

His eyes burned. His palms itched. Shiro was a good kid. But being good hadn't saved him from this, so what was the point?

 

 

///3

It was the first act of rebellion in his life, if you didn't count sneaking candy out of jars and reading under the covers at night. He didn't really have a solid plan in place, only that running away was something kids did when they wanted to change something about their lives, so that was what Shiro was going to do. He grabbed his hiking bag, already loaded up with necessities from his last camping trip with grandpa, and snuck out of the house when things were quiet and dark.

He took the main road that led out of town and walked under the moonlight with a flashlight in hand. There wasn't much traffic here in the daytime, and at night the roads were silent. The shoulder was unpaved and rough, and the stones bit into his feet through his thin sneakers. He should have worn his hiking boots, but he didn't think he could get out of the house silently with heavier shoes on.

Eventually the road he was on passed over a wash. The culvert beneath was a simple concrete structure, and at certain times of the year it would be full of flood waters. Tonight it was dry, and would provide reasonable shelter from the cool night winds. The banks of the wash were steep and rocky, but there were footholds here and there, and he thought he could make it down safely if he took it slow. He turned, taking one step sideways to keep traction on the slope, and then took another.

 

 

 

///4

The stars were so, so, unbelievably bright here. Shiro thought the night sky would swallow him whole.

 

 

 

///5

He had lost his footing, he remembered. That's why he was on his back at the bottom of the wash. There was blood on his face, creeping down from his hairline. There was a hand on his neck. There was something in the dark.

Shiro's thoughts were fuzzy, but fear lived in the hind-brain where no thought was necessary. He yelped, digging his hands and heels into the dirt in a mindless, backwards scramble. His shoulders ached where the rocks had hit him on the way down. His calves and knees were shredded where his cargo shorts had failed to protect him. These were things that would pain him in the coming days, but right now adrenaline numbed him. His strongest memory of the moment was of purple, glowing light and a dark crouching figure with a pale face.

It said, in a soft voice. "Hey, it's alright. You're hurt, be still."

Shiro did not want to be still. He wanted to run. But his limbs were shaking and he couldn't stand. The figure stayed back and watched him, waiting. Eventually time slowed down and Shiro's eyes cleared enough that he could see where he was, who was with him.

It was a man with a long, narrow face and dark hair down to his shoulders. He was wearing dark clothing, like a burglar, and behind him Shiro could see some kind of structure, something that glowed with the purple light he saw earlier. The surface of the thing was slick and shiny in the moonlight, and Shiro's first thought was that it might be a car, but he had never seen a car shaped like that before. Maybe a plane? But why would a pilot land here?

"Who are you?" he asked.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "How is your head?"

His head hurt like hell.

 

 

 

///6

There were many reasons he should have been afraid of the stranger. The first reason was that he was a stranger.

The second was his lean, yet imposing figure. He was definitely built like a fighter, and his movements reminded Shiro of a panther in all of that dark clothing. He was also carrying a knife, and had a wicked scar on his face.

The third was his mysterious vehicle, which he did not let Shiro see. He insisted on tending to his wounds first. He used the first-aid kit from Shiro's hiking bag. He gave him water. He wrapped his bloody knees. All the while, he asked gentle, probing questions about Shiro.

What is your name? -- Takashi Shirogane, but everyone called him Shiro.

Why are you here, in the middle of the night? -- Because he had run away.

Do your parents know you are missing? -- His parents were dead. His grandparents were probably still asleep.

Why did you run away?

Shiro considered this question, wondering if he should tell the stranger so much about himself. In the end he told him, because the stranger was listening, and no one else listened.

As Shiro talked, the stranger watched him with a calm, open expression. Shiro remembered that his eyes were very sharp, and very blue. He was surprised he could see their color in the night time, but there was a lot of moonlight and starlight to help him see, and the flashlight was on nearby.

He said, "I think you're going to be alright, Shiro."

Shiro thought he was talking about his scrapes and bruises. "Thanks to you."

He shook his head. "I can tell that you're very scared right now, and that's because your future is very scary. But you can't run away from it anymore, understand? You're going to grow up and be strong and you're going to do some amazing things with your life. Starting tomorrow."

Shiro opened his mouth, wordless for a moment. He was going to tell the stranger that he was wrong, that growing up strong was not a thing he could do, because that was what everyone told him was true. But what he said was the thing that Shiro had desperately wished to hear, and he couldn't help but believe him.

So he nodded. The stranger smiled. "Are you ready to go home?"

"Yes."

"Where do you live?"

Shiro had walked for over an hour to get here. It was a distance of maybe five or six miles. When he told him this, the stranger frowned. "I need to leave here soon..." He looked back at his vehicle, biting his lip, clearly trying to make a hard decision. Then he looked back at Shiro and a mischevious grin spread across his face. "You want to fly there?"

Shiro's eyes must have been wide as saucers, you could probably see the starlight in them. "It flies? You'll take me in it?"

"As long as you can keep a secret."

"I can! I won't tell any--" Shiro pulled himself to his feet, caught himself as he stumbled. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

 

 

 

///7

"So it's a hovercraft," Shiro said, giddy with excitement. The seat straps were tight enough that he couldn't press his face to the window, but he got as close to it as he could. The vehicle was a few feet off the ground and flying smoothly over the rocky desert terrain.

"Nah, it can go higher than this. I just don't want us to be seen in the air." The stranger was in the seat in front of him, steering. The panels in front of him were wonderously purple and unlike anything Shiro had ever seen before.

"Are you a pilot?" Shiro asked. "Do you fly for the Garrison?"

The stranger was silent, and if Shiro were less of a nine year old boy he might have noticed it, but he was too busy staring at the stars from inside the cockpit. "My dad flew for the Garrison," he continued. "He always said that I'd get to go up in a jet with him one day. He died before I could, though."

The stranger hit something on the panel in front of him, said, "Let's go up, then." Their forward momentum slowed, and suddenly the craft was on its way up in a smooth ascent. Shiro felt the inertia like a drop in his belly. "Oh," he said, caught in the sensation.

Below them, the dark tangles of brush shrunk away into small dots of color on a cold, gray landscape. Shiro could see the lights of his town glittering not far in the distance. Above them, the stars glittered like a reflection of them. Surrounded by light above and below, Shiro let himself imagine he was in space, and the desert was the surface of the moon.

 

 

 

///8

They landed quietly in an empty lot near the apartment complex where Shiro's grandparents were hopefully sleeping soundly and worry-free. The stranger helped him out of the cockpit and set him on the ground. "Are you fine to walk up there by yourself?"

Shiro felt his knees. They were stiff, but his legs were steady now that the shock of the fall had worn off. The knot forming at the back of his head was tender, but the stranger had already determined that he didn't have a concussion.

"I'm okay," he said, and then, "Can you please tell me your name? I wan't to thank you properly." His grandpa had always impressed on him the importance of thanking someone by name.

The stranger considered his request, a quizzical look on his face. Finally he said, "Yorak."

Shiro, with all the blithe impoliteness of a child, said, "What kind of name is Yorak? Where do you come from?"

Yorak laughed at this, and Shiro realized that he had been rude. But Yorak didn't seem to mind. "Where do you think I come from?" he asked.

Shiro wasn't sure. He looked over at the craft, with its glossy black surface and angular lines. He looked up at the sky, full of stars, and thought about how easy it was to see them from inside the cockpit -- not like the foggy, heavy glass windows of any of the planes Shiro had ever sat in.

When he looked back at Yorak he saw that he was looking up at the stars too, and when his gaze met Shiro's again he gave him a knowing, conspiratorial look. Shiro felt a secret pass between them, wordlessly.

He straightened up, gave his best boy scout salute. "Thank you, Yorak, for helping me today."

"You're welcome, Shiro. Take care of yourself, ok?"

"I will," Shiro said, and before he turned to leave he said, "Yorak?"

"Yes?"

"Will I see you again?"

Yorak paused again, in that quiet way that Shiro had learned meant he was thinking about his secrets.

"You will," he said. "Come find me."

 

 

 

///9

Memories are like dreams. They find you in the darkness when you're at your most bare and vulnerable.

Shiro didn't know what it felt like to be flayed, but having your soul ripped out of its vessal probably approximated the sensation. He didn't know what it meant to be a person without a body, without a brain. What was a soul? Was it made of quintessence? His presence inside the Black Lion was definitely some kind of energy form, because he felt himself flowing through the Black Lion whenever it awoke. Moving when it moved. Seeing through its eyes.

But when things went dark, Shiro was blind, and all he was left with were his memories. It felt like sleeping.

 

 

 

///10

"You found me."

 

 

 

///11

He was drifting again. There was something about brains that he remembered from his medical science course he took back in his Garrison days, something called "plasticity" that described a brain's ability to form new pathways and store new information. Plasticity went down as a person aged, and though Shiro wasn't old, in brain terms he wasn't very young either. He had a feeling that having the informational equivalent of a whole person inserted into a brain would stretch the limits of its plasticity.

Remembering how to breath was so hard.

He flitted in and out of consciousness, fragments of sound and sensation melding into the landscape of his dreams, which were flooded with old memories tumbling through like puzzle pieces looking for a place to fit. The smell of instant ramen in his dorm room. His grandfather's face. The hum of the cryotube. Skinned knees. Sunny days. The taste of blood and glowing, yellow eyes. Sunsets. Adam. The Kerberos Mission. Stars. Endless, falling stars.

You can't do this to me again.

Keith. Keith, Keith, Keith.

He opened his eyes. There was nothing but light at first, but it dimmed and he could see again, see him again. A long, narrow face. Sharp blue eyes. A scar, still fresh and raw, running across his cheek.

"Keith, I was dreaming. Keith, you saved me."

Keith smiled. "We saved each other."


End file.
